


In the Language of Symbols

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Kissing, Romance, Slow Build, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2700464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a person is born, they are born with a mark over their heart. With time, it will take shape as a word, a phrase, or a picture. It is that person's soul mark: the key to finding the one person on earth meant for them.</p><p> </p><p>In a world where dead men walk the earth and the End Times loom in the future, Abigail Mills doesn't have the time to worry about soulmates. That is, until Ichabod starts to develop a soul mark of his own, because then she has a hell of a lot of explaining to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Language of Symbols

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this took a good long while for me to write. Confession time: I love the soulmate AU. I especially love the ones where the characters only see in shades of black and white and gray until they meet their soulmate. But there were certain limitations to writing Abbie and Ichabod into a soulmate AU, having it set where I have it set, so I let the ideas flow this way. And I think it turned out well. This might be one of my most favourite pieces that I've written.
> 
> I do not own _Sleepy Hollow_ or the song _"You Are My Sunshine"_. Thanks for reading! Also, first soulmate AU, so feedback is highly appreciated!

"Why, Lieutenant, do you have a _tattoo_?"

Abbie swears she's about to grind her teeth to the gums. She straightens and pulls her pants up and her shirt down. "No," she says crisply. "And it's not any of your damn business. Get over here and clean this up, this isn't my mess."

Crane raises an eyebrow - just one, the snarky bastard - and looks at the broken glass on the floor. "I didn't realize that it would _break_."

"Just clean it up."

Abbie resists the urge to sigh, pressing the heel of her hand against her forehead. She isn't sure where he picked up the idea of tattoos so quickly, asides from the fact that one of their constables has one up her arm, usually covered by her uniform. Of all things for him to pick up. Why couldn't he pick up the idea of light bulbs being hot _and_ fragile? And why the hell had he been messing with the lamp anyway?

Anyway, it's not a tattoo, Abbie thinks, idly fingering the hem of her shirt.

But this guy is crazy, she's had a long day, and she doesn't even want to _think_ about explaining the idea of soul marks to him.

If he wants to think that she has a tramp stamp, so be it. She really doesn't give a rat's ass.

* * *

 

Three months later, she's walking into Purgatory with his hand in hers. She has never been more exhilarated or scared in her life.

She doesn't hesitate to give up her place in the waking world to get Crane and Katrina out. Because she knows that he'll come back to her. She doesn't know how, or why, and after three months, she shouldn't have that kind of unswerving loyalty in a person. It all rings true, though, when she manages to get through to him from Moloch's lair and they crash into each other with a hug that nearly knocks the breath out of her.

His arms fit around her perfectly, and Abbie feels like she's home even in the darkest, dankest part of non-Hell that she could ever imagine.

His hand settles against her lower back, right over the soul mark hidden beneath her clothes.

Abbie doesn't think about it. She just wants to hang on to him and not let go.

* * *

 

"Lieutenant?"

Ichabod's voice sounds strange and Abbie's immediately on it. Strange isn't good, with them. It's normal, but it's rarely ever good.

"What's wrong?" She looks up at him immediately, her voice demanding with concern. Nothing ever rattles Ichabod unless it's important.

He's frowning, but he holds out his arm, his sleeve pushed halfway to his elbow. "This is a new development."

There's black on his arm and Abbie's mind frantically makes the leap the plague that they had fought against over a year ago. But after she crosses the room and takes his arm in her hand, she can see that it's not just his veins turning grey, but the skin around his veins as well. It looks like squiggles until Abbie can focus, and then the squiggles take shape into tendrils, wider at one end and tapering at the other. There's nothing else.

"Does it hurt?"

Ichabod shakes his head. "No. It won't come off, either."

Abbie frowns and presses her fingers against the grey skin; it's still body-warm to the touch and Ichabod doesn't flinch.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Ichabod says slowly.

Abbie looks up at him. "I'm sure it's nothing," she echoes. The _but we're still going to look into it_ goes unspoken, and they pore over the books for days.

When the darkness spreads, the tendrils crawl up his arm halfway between his elbow and shoulder, a faint semi-circle appearing between them. They're gone from his wrist, shadows faded back to skin tone. The mark is moving, and suddenly, it all clicks into place for Abbie.

She lets out a breath it feels like she's been holding for the past week. "I know what that is," she says softly, and although she doesn't understand it, she does know.

Ichabod looks up quickly. "What?"

"It's a soul mark."

Ichabod looks only all the more confused. "A soul mark? I haven't seen anything like this in the books," he says, looking at his arm. "Did you find something?" He's halfway to his feet before Abbie even shake her head.

"No... Crane, soul marks are something we're all born with." Abbie pauses. "Although, I mean I never asked, but... you've never had anything like this before?"

Ichabod shakes his head. "No... You have this... soul mark as well?"

Abbie shakes her head. "No, everyone's is different. They're markers, they tell you who you're destined to be with. Soulmates," she explains. It sounds painfully cheesy. Even she hasn't put much stock into her soul mark. The only time she thinks about it is when she catches it in the mirror.

Hers is on her lower back, looking all the world like a tramp-stamp that Abbie recalls Crane brought up when he had first met her. Of course he hadn't called it that, but that was just the placement. Everyone's started out over their hearts when they were born, and gradually, throughout the first week or so of life, it crawled to a more permanent placement. It never hurt; it was like a tattoo without the pain.

Ichabod raises an eyebrow. "Soulmates?"

"It sounds dumb, I know. Remember when you asked me if I had a tattoo?"

Ichabod assents with a nod.

"Well, it's not a tattoo, it's my soul mark," Abbie says, turning and hooking her finger into the waistband of her jeans just enough to reveal the mark residing beneath her jeans and shirt. "It's been there since I've been a kid. They all start out over our hearts, finding our match within its very first beats, and then it moves, creates a shape. They all start out as doodles, but then they form a picture. When it stops moving, that's the true soul mark."

Ichabod's doing this weird thing where it's like he's trying to look at the mark on her lower back whilst trying not to look like he's looking at anything inappropriate; Abbie can't help but laugh.

Ichabod huffs at her and straightens up. "It's a bird?"

Abbie nods and fixes her shirt. "Yep. Whatever your soul mark ends up looking like, that's a clue to your soulmate. Some people are born with actual names, or numbers, even first words. Personally, I'm glad I got a picture. Even if it is your soulmate, it's kind of tacky to have an imprint of their name permanently on your body." She shrugs.

"But..." Ichabod looks between her and his arm. "I didn't have this when I was born."

"That's the part I don't get," Abbie says, sitting on the edge of the table. "Maybe no one had them back in your century, I don't know. They were never documented in history, but it's not like they teach soulmate classes at school, either."

"And I'm... forming one now because of my association with this century, perhaps?" Ichabod grips his arm. "But why now?"

"Something had to trigger it, I guess." Abbie shakes her head.

Ichabod frowns. "I'm already married."

"I know." She isn't really sure how she's supposed to say that maybe he's not married to someone who's supposed to be his soulmate. Maybe it will point to Katrina. Who knows. Crane's the exception to the rule, he always has been. "Just have to wait and see," she adds, and hopes, for his sake, that it adds up to Katrina. It will kill him if it doesn't. That was why soul marks were there from birth, and not in middle life.

"... Very well." Ichabod drops his hand. "If this is indeed a soul mark, I'll bear it for the rest of my life?"

"Uh huh. Well, until your soulmate dies, anyway. When that happens, you'll feel it. It'll hurt, and all the color will fade out the mark. It'll still be there, but just like a... scar," she settles on. "Noticeable in the light, whatever."

Ichabod takes everything in stride and just nods. "Okay. Where can I learn more about these soul marks?"

Abbie smiles, relieved that it's not something more serious, and stands, going to get her laptop.

* * *

 

"It's a sun," Abbie says, pulling at the collar of Ichabod's shirt.

"Yes." Ichabod sits at his kitchen table, hands in his lap and back ramrod straight as Abbie inspects his shoulder. She only has his shirt pulled down past his shoulder and upper arm, but he's still as tense as though Abbie had told him to strip naked.

His soul mark has moved to his upper arm, stretched across the flat of his bicep. The tendrils, now Abbie recognizes as the rays of the sun, stretch out just to start to wrap around his arm. The orb in the middle of it isn't colored, just an outline, but the design itself is the blackest black that Abbie has ever seen. It's also stopped moving.

"Come on, Crane, loosen up." Abbie grips his opposite shoulder, kneading her fingers into his skin.

Ichabod inhales sharply. "Lieutenant, please."

Abbie chuckles, trailing her fingers over the mark. "Well, anyway, it's a sun. And I'm pretty sure that it's not going to change anytime soon, so congrats, Crane, you've got your very own soul mark." She gently pulls the fabric of his shirt back up over his shoulder, leaving him to tie it back up.

"Yes, well." He fumbles with the strings. "It would be infinitely more helpful if I just had a _name_ instead of a picture." He reaches for the laptop on the table and pulls it towards him again. He's been clicking through different pictures of soul marks all morning, looking for anything similar to his or what it may mean.

"They can be vague, that's what sucks. Some people go their entire life without finding their soulmate, they get married to someone else, but they never get to experience... whatever it is that makes a soulmate a soulmate."

Abbie isn't sure what that's supposed to be. It's supposed to be the best feeling in the world, apparently, but she'd never had a particularly drop-dead-amazing time with any guy she's dated, so she's pretty sure that she hasn't been with her soulmate yet. But, in the end, if she doesn't find it, she isn't going to be too bothered. Can't miss what you don't have.

"It's pretty, though," she adds. "Some people get ass ugly marks, as long as it pertains."

"Yes... It's almost like The Sun, on tarot cards." Ichabod jabs a long finger towards the screen. "Granted, The Sun here is anthropomorphized, my soul mark isn't. But according to tarot, The Sun is a symbol of... an unveiling. Self awareness, self power, and hope for the future." He makes a noise. "That could be worse."

Abbie smiles. "Uh huh. At least you have something to fall back on, all of that tarot stuff. Mine's just generic. A bird. It might be someone who likes birds, has birds, is afraid of birds. Someone's name could be Dove or Crow or..."

... Wait a second.

Crane isn't paying any attention, having interrupted her to babble on about a picture of a mark he's just found in the search results.

 _Crane_. A fucking crane. A crane's a bird.

Abbie feels like she's either about to pass out or start screaming and crying. She isn't sure she's been this overwhelmed since she had met him for the first time.

"Lieutenant?"

Abbie snaps back to reality, forcing a smile that's too strained. "Sorry, I just remembered something. Are you good on your own for awhile?"

Ichabod's finally torn himself away from the computer long enough to look at her, concern etched into his features. "Yes. Are you alright?"

"Yes." She doesn't believe herself, so she isn't surprised when Ichabod doesn't look like he buys it, either. "I'll be back this afternoon."

"If you're sure you're alright..."

"I'm sure," Abbie calls, already heading for the door.

* * *

 

Ten minutes from his cabin, she pulls over to the shoulder and thumps her forehead against the steering wheel. How could she be so _blind_? A bird, a crane. She's been working with this guy for over a year, calling him _Crane_ every day. How is it that she didn't _notice_?

 _Because you don't put stock into soulmates_ , whispers a voice in her head. She knows that's true, but... _Crane_.

She doesn't know what else to do, so she calls Jenny and explains _everything_ in a rush of mixtures of guilt and fear and whatever the hell else she's feeling.

_"Well, what's his of? You said he just got one?"_

"The sun." Abbie realizes that her hands are shaking. She clenches her free one into a fist and clutches at the steering wheel. "The sun, with these crazy rays coming off of it-"

_"Like sunshine?"_

Abbie stiffens with her fingers still clutching the steering wheel. Fragments of years past rush into her mind, of Jenny and her curled up in bed late at night, Mama sitting next to them, singing softly over the roar of a thunderstorm outside " _you are my sunshine, my only sunshine_ ".

"Oh, no."

_"Abbie, look-"_

"Oh..." Abbie blows out a breath. "Oh, no. This can _not_ be happening." She thumps her forehead against the wheel again. "Not in the middle of all of this, Crane can _not_ be my _soulmate_."

" _If his mark matches you... I mean, there's always room for interpretation, does the sun relate back to Katrina somehow?_ "

Abbie breathes in and out. "I don't know. He can't figure anything. I mean, he's taking it in stride that he can't match the two pieces up, but if we're..." she trails off, and has to remind herself to breathe again.

_"You know there's way to test that out."_

"I am not having sex with him!" Abbie hisses.

 _"I'm just saying, you know it's different._ I _know it's different."_

"Yeah, well, good for you, having sex with your soulmate," Abbie mutters, and then rubs her eyes. "Jeez, Jenny, what do I even tell him? Keeping it a secret isn't going to be good when it comes out but I have no idea how to even _go_ there when Katrina's the one who keeps him going to begin with."

_"You don't think he doesn't keep going for you, too?"_

Abbie chews on her lip impatiently. Of course she knows that Crane would go to the ends of the earth for her, too, but that doesn't change anything. He's married. He _believes_ he is, even though death has already parted on that union, he and Katrina still take their marriage to be legal and binding. So... this doesn't change anything. Right?

_"He's going to figure it out eventually, Abbie. You know that."_

Abbie does. But she's between a rock and a hard place, and neither option seems very appealing.

* * *

 

Soul marks go unmentioned, more or less, for almost two months. The cases keep them busy, developments with Moloch, the Horsemen, and Katrina keep Ichabod's nose out of soul marks and soulmates.

But then one day, it all changes.

"Morning, Crane," Abbie greets as she lets herself into the cabin. She hears his footsteps on the hardwood but doesn't glance up, too busy trying to stomp the snow off of her boots from the three inches and fifteen degree weather they're experiencing now. "I've got you coffee, it's in the car-"

It's at this point that she turns around from the door and only has time to briefly register that Crane's in her personal space bubble, moreso than usual, before he stoops down and _kisses her_.

Abbie gasps against his lips and staggers, her back hitting the door she's just closed. Not a moment later, there's nothing - _nothing_ \- in her mind that makes her think that this is wrong. Abbie stretches up, reaches up to tangle her fingers into his hair, and presses into the kiss determinedly. They're a symphony of tongue and teeth, Ichabod's fingers dig into her shoulder heavily as the door digs into her back, she pulls on his hair and presses her hand against his chest and pushes him against the hutch without breaking for breath. Her heart is hammering in her chest until it's the only sound she can hear, the feeling drained from her body except where Ichabod's fingers come into contact with her body, where his lips brush hers and when he bites at her lip, accidentally or on purpose, Abbie feels the pain turn to pleasure and jolt throughout her entire _being_.

Ichabod gasps suddenly and jerks back, his head cracking against the hutch behind him. His hand on her shoulder becomes a restraint, holding her at arms length instead of holding her to his body. He's out of breath, flushed and wild-eyed, and Abbie feels the same exact way.

"Ichabod..." she gasps, flexing her now empty fingers. She's still able to feel the silky smoothness of his hair beneath the pads of her fingers.

"Jenny..." Ichabod clears his throat. "Miss Jenny told me..."You are my sunshine"."

Abbie stiffens. And everything comes rushing back, her soul mark, Crane's, being each other's _soulmates_. "Son of a bitch, Jenny," she mutters, curling her hands into fists. She's going to throttle her sister.

"She informed me of the conversation that you had with her," Ichabod says quietly, still punctuated by his needing to catch his breath. "Of your epiphany, and our connection. She said the way to solve our uncertainty was being intimate, even if only in a kiss, so, for that, forgive me, I acted without rational thought. However..."

"Oh, damn it." Abbie sighs. "You know, Crane, I didn't think finding your soulmate was meant to be this hard. It's supposed to be effortless." _It is_ , she adds to herself, because everything has come together nicely to make her realize that it wasn't unswerving loyalty to someone she barely knew; it's love, and it always has been from the start. She's just been too naïve to realize it. Naïve and busy.

Ichabod lets out a breath and drops his head back against the hutch again, closing his eyes. His hand finally falls away from her shoulder and he's still save for the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

Abbie suddenly hates having a soulmate.

It hurts too much to see that soulmate in pain.

* * *

 

"We can't dodge the inevitable forever, Miss Mills."

Abbie sighs and tries not to listen to him. They've been _dodging the inevitable_ for three days now. They've barely spoken, and Ichabod's been apologizing for everything as so much as brushing their fingers as they pass books to each other.

"Abbie."

Abbie looks up at the use of her given name.

Ichabod smiles faintly. "There you are, Lieutenant. If I'm not mistaken, you've been hiding behind the curtain of your hair since three days ago."

She sighs. "Sorry."

Ichabod tilts his head. "Why are you apologizing? I'm the one who took action without speaking to you first of my plan."

"Because I knew, Crane. I knew and I never told you."

"I understand."

"What?"

"I understand why you didn't. If the positions were reversed, I may have done the same."

Abbie stops, putting her pen down. So, he's not mad at her and she's not mad at him, so... why exactly aren't they talking? "But we're soulmates."

Ichabod's smile is all soft and sweet, tendrils of his hair falling into his face. "And I could imagine no other person better suited to being my soulmate than my fellow Witness and most cherished friend?"

Abbie wants to laugh and cry and yell at him until he's backed into a corner all at the same moment. She wants to run away, or complain, but most of all, she just wants to kiss him.

"You do know what soulmates means, right?" she asks instead.

Ichabod raises his eyebrows. "I gathered, more or less, from the display at the cabin three days ago. However, I don't believe that's all that soulmates can be. Katrina is my wife, and I love her more than anything in the world. You are my soulmate, and complete me in ways that marital ties cannot fulfill. I am, perhaps, the luckiest man on earth," he says, and she knows he believes every word. But then he shakes his head and seems to come back to reality: "Not taking the Apocalypse, the Witnesses, or Moloch's plans into account, of course..."

Abbie can't help but smile. She really, really can't. It's all wrecked by emotion, but it's just natural. "All of that, yeah..."

"One day," Ichabod adds, "perhaps."

Abbie frowns. "Perhaps?"

But Ichabod just smiles and goes back to jotting down whatever he's writing about in his old, leather-bound, beat-up journal.

* * *

 

"Go forth, Ichabod, as you and Abigail are destined for each other in ways words cannot explain."

"Katrina. ... You knew?"

"It was never my intention to see, yet I knew nonetheless."

"I'm sorry. Abbie never meant anything by it, nor I-"

"Ichabod, do not think me shallow-minded. You would never betray my honor, even though I have time after time kept you cloaked in secrets. No, do not retort; it is the truth. But know this, Ichabod, in my absence that is to follow, I am glad... no, I am _content_ in every part of my soul to know that Abigail Mills awaits you with open arms. Do not grieve for my death, beloved, but for the life you are able to begin anew."

And when Ichabod staggers out from the gateway to the Otherworld, his face is tear-stricken and his hands are shaking, but he wraps his arms around Abbie and it's just as it was before;

he is perfect, and she is home.

 


End file.
